


Too Old to be a Momma's Boy? Just Buy Your Mom as a Wife Instead

by Tas_tan



Category: Original Work
Genre: /ss/, Body Modification, Breeding, Cum Inflation, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fat Ass, Impregnation, Incest, MILF, Shota, Size Difference, Stomach Deformation, abortion tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:47:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23354905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tas_tan/pseuds/Tas_tan
Summary: In a world not unlike our own, the practice of selling one's wife is not only legal and acceptable, but encouraged in cases of extreme dissatisfaction. For as little as a 10 year old's pocket change, women can be bought and sold by any man willing to engage in a lawful transaction...Yes, even outrageously perverse and apparently underage little boy's with pent up desires to messily inseminate their own mothers.
Relationships: Some kid/His mom
Comments: 11
Kudos: 120





	1. Chapter 1

That a man might one day find himself with the desire to sell his wife of however-many-years as a farmer might lame cattle is not a very outlandish thought. Over time, the stresses of matrimony and the ever-present monolith of commitment that binds these stresses to the couple concerned are liable to put far worse thoughts into the minds of men.

That a society willing to not only entertain, but assist in the actualization of these thoughts exists somewhere is a far more outlandish thought—or so one might think.

[Once upon a time in a world not unlike our own, there existed men born with the right to sell their wives to other males (human or otherwise) as they pleased](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wife_selling_\(English_custom\)). Whether as a result of contempt for their spouses, dissatisfaction, or a combination of ignorance and stupidity, these men freely exercised this right to their benefit, and to a point, the benefit of others. No special cause was required for them to do so, nor did the governing bodies of the world’s societies make doing so more tiresome than it ought to be. Provided a man could muster up the desire to auction off his wife and procure a seller, a spouse could very well change hands within a day.

The existence of this executive right and the male population’s propensity to make use of it can be considered the primary ‘dividing line’ between this world and our own. Numerous others exist—namely the world’s distinctly renaissance-like feel and miscellaneous peculiarities concerning the rights of children— but for the most part, these can be ignored in favor of the fact that, at any given moment, a wife may find herself lost and subsequently found as loose change discarded on a roadside.

Contrary to the implications of such freedoms, families persist in this world. After all, it is not every man that eventually finds himself with cause to rid himself of his wife, and it is not every wife that will find herself in a position to be sold. In this place, happy families exist in equal, if not greater numbers than one might expect from any other sprawling fantasy scape.

This is not to say that these happy families are any more or less immune to ‘addling’, however.

Take, for example, the Fronts. Dominic Front, a man of modest social standing with a solid trade to his name, was offered marriage to the then soon-to-be Dorothy Front well past his prime a man. Voluptuous, healthy; youthful and cheerful, Dominic accepted without a second thought, and with her produced an heir by the name of Clover.

Both like his father and not, Clover excelled equally in the sciences of the time and the technical demands of his father’s trade. As the family was without the funds to see the boy formally educated, most all of his learning stemmed from his satisfying any and all curiosities that struck him. By tailing his father and assisting him in his work, information was availed to him in the form of talkative clients of higher standing, wealthy business owners, and the occasional book passed onto him by those that found his inquisitiveness to be endearing.

Instrumental as these experiences were in building his knowledge base, his foremost source of information was his mother. Vastly younger than his father and educated in numerous subjects unrelated to housework, Dorothy stood equipped to answer most all of the questions posed to her by her little bundle of joy—provided they weren’t too complex. After the initial years of his rearing and his grasping English, hardly a day went by without the two of them taking on the roles of teacher and student whenever Dominic was absent.

These years were profoundly influential on Clover. Occasionally, the nature of his father’s work required him to travel to places where a child ought not follow. Consequentially, his time as a boy was split equally between his mother and father; an abnormal mixture of excessive maternal comfort and just enough masculine instruction, for lack of a better phrase.

Not long before his 10th birthday, a letter sent to the Fronts suggested that Clover’s ‘abnormal’ upbringing would soon be righted. A patron of his father’s—an especially wealthy one, at that—offered the family an opportunity to see their son formally educated.

In return for his spending the beginnings of his impending adulthood assisting in his business operations, the cost of his studies, lodgings, and comforts were to be covered by his estate. The question of ‘Why Clover?’ was answered within this letter as well. Apparently, Clover’s modest inquisitions struck the man as the foundation for a brilliant mind. Seeing such a mind denied the opportunity to reach its full potential evidently irked the man enough to goad him into actively attempting to prevent it.

Collectively, the Fronts were without a reason to refuse. Well aware of their son’s talents, Dominic and Dorothy often discussed methods with which to send the boy off to school. Dominic’s ideas focused on seeing Clover work in the family business until the two of them raised enough capital to accomplish this naturally, and unsurprisingly, all of Dorothy’s focused on her taking up some form of work within their city to allow for them to begin financing it sooner rather than later.

This framed the patron’s offer as a dream come true; a solution to a problem likely to be shelved and forgotten if not dealt with immediately.

Ironically, the only person with misgivings about the situation was Clover himself. It was not the time away from his parents that he feared; becoming an adult almost necessitated this. The pressure to succeed that was to be placed on him was not daunting, either—at least not to an extent that might sully the lustre of an ideal future from his perspective.

Of all of the things that could have spooked the youth into discomfort, it was the idea of living apart from his mother that chilled his perspective most. Spending the rest of his youth away from her—the woman responsible for so much of his happiness— filled his head with thoughts about a very disquieting future. Not only would he need to begin learning to live without the comforts that she provided, but, slowly yet surely, he imagined himself with no other choice but to acclimate to the idea of one day marrying a woman that wasn’t her. As daughters sometimes entertain the idea of marrying their fathers, the time that he had spent with her had resulted in his adopting a severe and unexpressed ‘preference’ for her as a woman.

These misgivings aside, Clover was not ungrateful. For as much as it saddened him on the inside, he suppressed his discontentment and made certain to approach the offer with an appropriate amount of excitement. When it was decided that he was to leave home within a month, he worked to prepare himself with a zeal endemic to young men with eyes on the future.

His eyes were not focused on just any future, however. Every step that he took towards his departure day was a step aimed toward his _ideal_ future: one wherein his happiness need not be traded for his education.

With this future in mind, Clover first contacted a priest. Next, he used a fraction of his stockpiled allowances to purchase a surplus of his father’s favorite ale. Finally and most importantly, he conversed with his mother about his father’s worst tendencies and his feelings about him as a man (as opposed to his being her son).

Thus, when his final day as a child within his parents’ home arrived, he stood prepared to live apart from them for as long as was necessary. If living with his mother forever was impossible, he’d simply take a woman with her name, face, appearance, and shape as his wife…

By any means necessary.

-

**CITY MARKET— NOON HOUR**

“And that, Father, is why I believe you should sell Mother to me. This way, you’re not only giving your son his best chance at a comfortable future, but you’re also guaranteeing that I’ll be equipped to look after you when you become older.”

“It’s certainly true that someone else might offer you a better deal, but I still feel that this is the most prudent decision. What about you?”

  
Equally confident and congenial, Clover Front concluded what was to be his first and only offer to his father with an invitation for the man to provide his ‘input’ on the transaction.

No such input would come from him—the mug of ale clutched by his dominant hand and the empty casket at his feet had seen to that. The boy’s decision to entreat his father was for the sole purpose of denying him the ability to complain about the ‘sale’ after the fact. The neutral ground of the city’s marketplace left him very few avenues to do so lawfully, as did the presence of the two ‘witnesses’ he had prepared to observe the event. Nevertheless, one could not be too careful where transactions of this nature were concerned—less so when the ‘item’ changed hands was one’s own mother.

With a trademarked sunniness on his face, Clover watched his father wrestle through a drunken mulling over the subject before a response finally wriggled from his lips.

“ *hic* ‘hreally did raise ya t’be smart as a fuckin’ whip, m’boy.” slurred Dominic, fatherly warmth brimming from his voice. “ f’zats yr’ logic, why the bloody ‘ell nought? Better you ‘n sum otha bloke, eh?”

“I *hic* got no problems givin’ my blood his best go at makin’ me proud. Izza deal, kiddo.”

In spite of himself, Clover began to smile. He had asked for his father’s input on the deal—whether or not he accepted was supposed to come afterwards. Having somehow killed two birds with a single stone, a positive affect potent enough to invalidate the importance of his ‘poker face’ overcame him in an instant

Though staggered by the happening, the boy did not collapse.

“W-Well, great! Thank you for being so understanding, Father!” Clover chirped. “In that case, can you please do the honours, your holiness?”

Petitioned for this very purpose, the priest that Clover had enlisted stepped out from behind him and cleared his throat.

“Ahem. Now that I have observed that the transaction has been completed lawfully, I formally annul the marriage between Dorothy Front and her husband, Dominic Front.” speaking with the soothing correctness to be expected of a man of the cloth, the priest ended his first sentence with a gesture to his right.

“Dorothy Front, you may now step forward.”

As directed, Dorothy moved from her position at Dominic’s side to one directly ahead of Clover.

5 feet and 6 inches in height with hardly a blemish present to tease her age, Dorothy’s 30~ year old frame could have passed as one at least a decade younger. Below the creamy visage defined by her perpetual unwillingness to open her eyes and the smooth, lengthy crescents of jet-black hair that framed her face were breasts massive enough to make her stature seem that much more significant. Packed with an uneven blend of fat and flesh, the teardrop-shaped pillows did not slope over her front so much as they bloated outward from it. Seeming much more like abnormally puffy watermelons or obese flesh-teardrops than the simple ‘mounds’ of a lesser woman, the very idea that clothing was expected to be draped atop them was made laughable on conception.

The rest of her frame matched the obscenity of her breasts, and in certain aspects, improved upon it. Whereas much of Dorothy’s midsection was hidden by the underside of her breasts, what amounts of it remained visible to the naked eye were padded with the slightest amount of matronly chub. Distributed such that her curves appeared deeper and more defined, the steps that she took did not cause the mixed fat and flesh to ripple or sway.

The same could not be said about the succulent, globe-shaped pillows of buttocks flesh that protruded from her backside, nor the plush and puffy torsos of thigh meat that supported her frame. As she walked, the former bounced with a sultry fullness that almost demanded groping, and the latter jiggled just slightly enough to evoke thoughts as to what its flesh might feel like to the touch.

It was this woman—smiling warmly and completely indifferent to her stunning nakedness—that moved herself over to Clover’s side.

Once in place, the priest continued to speak.

“Clover, Dorothy—I now pronounce you man and wife. May your lives together be fruitful and in accordance with the lord’s will.” he exhaled. “You may now kiss and consummate your union.”

Dorothy was the first to act following the priest’s declaration. Ears trained on his words with a sharpness that put her son’s and husband’s to shame, the end of his utterance saw her descend to her knees ahead of Clover. Heights level for all intents and purposes, she shamelessly stabbed her skull inward to squish to the fullness of her lips up against the comparative thinness of her son’s. On contact, she wasted no time in parting the facial pillows and aggressively burrowing her tongue down towards the nubile confines of his throat.

As greedy a woman as she was prudent, Dorothy fed herself on the taste of Clover’s throat just long enough to calm her throbbing heartrate into a pleasant flutter. Initially, she swirled her tongue to the left and right of the back of his throat to see the respective ‘tastes’ of their mouths shared with one another. Then, when hungry activity from Clover’s tongue began to impede her left-right sliding, she retracted her organ far enough to see its fully-developed bulk engaged in a biased dance with her loving son’s.

Finally, after a sound half minute of exchanging fluids with the youth, she smoothly popped her lips out of contact with his own behind a flourish of spittle and the extraction of a saliva drenched tongue from the back of his throat.

Now beaming at Clover with the same innocent, inviting warmth that defined her as a parent, she took a moment to catch her breath before speaking out to make her ‘presence’ in proceedings known.

“I always knew that you’d be able to make something of all of your smarts, Clover... ♥” she began, adoration bleeding from her tone. “I did not expect it to be so soon, though! I suppose I’ll just have to get used to the idea of having a little scholar for a husband, won’t I?”

  
Impressively, Clover’s ability to comprehend his mother’s words (or anyone’s, for that matter) had not deteriorated as a result of her kiss. Hints of lustful delirium could be seen in his lidded gaze and the saliva plastered to both sides of his mouth, yet when presented with an opportunity to speak and act in response to her kiss, he took it without delay.

Before anything else, his little hands jumped down to the waistline of his slacks. Unfastening the sole button sealing them to his lower body, he rid himself of the garment with a sound plunge of both of his hands across his legs. Free from their constriction, the engorged obelisk of flesh and blood vessels packaged at his crotch flopped out into an imposing, humidity-backed ‘impression’ against Dorothy’s midsection.

At an alarmingly bloated 14 inches reminiscent of a sturdy and vascular forearm, the greasy extension of phallus meat owned all of the developed masculinity that Clover’s face (and frame) lacked. Almost entirely erect (if the taut, more darkly-colored fist of mushroom-shaped glans flesh at its tip was any indication), its sheer weight initially subjected the glossy loaf to a horizontal ‘point’ at Dorothy’s midsection. After her ingress, its underside was pushed up into an anaconda-like trailing up her abdominals and into the underside of her cleavage.

Heated to a temperature shy of a sinew-soothing boil and drenched from tip to root in a musk-infused sweat, an arousal reticence consumed Dorothy as soon as the organ made contact with her flesh. When past the initial shock induced by her child’s obvious growth, the quivering pipe-system of blood vessels threaded through its surface area kept her silent by way of amazement. 

Spared the overstimulation that tied her mother’s tongue, Clover turned his attention to speaking immediately after exposing himself.

“...Y-Yes, I suppose you will.” he replied. While a firmness could be heard in his voice, much of its effect was muted by the arousal progressively drowning his brain. “ I’ll be a fully fledged man soon enough, however. Y-You can still regard me as your son, but you should not treat me as a helpless child anymore, Mother. Otherwise, I might end up becoming as worthless as father!”

Unsurprisingly, Dorothy knew precisely how to respond to her husband’s first demand.

“Of course, dear ♥. As your wife, I promise that I will do my best to adhere to your wishes.” she chirped. “With your cock as it is, I suppose your first request will be…”

“Correct!”

Before Dorothy could finish speaking, Clover acted to confirm her suspicions. Without regard for his surroundings, he descended to the ground and laid himself out back first from his initial standing position. Once situated, he sat up just far enough to brace the root of his livid erection with his dominant hand and direct an ‘imposing’ stare up at his mother.

Indignance and aggression did not suit the boy, but in his mind, presenting his best attempt at them was a necessary behavior for a husband…

  
Or, at the very least, a ‘good’ husband.

“We shall now consummate our marriage by creating a child. Since you’re somewhat bigger than me, I’ve placed myself in a position that should let me breed you comfortably.” Clover barked.

“Let’s be quick about this, shall we?”

After passing a brief (but full and telling) glance back at the intoxicated man behind her, Dorothy progressed forward. Planting her feet to either side of Clover’s torso once close enough, her arrival here saw her descend into a deep squat accented by a hook-shaped flick of her hips. Angled such that the jiggling mass of assflesh behind her would seem more pronounced throughout her descent, the stopping point that she selected for this move left the lightly haired exterior of her lower lips fractions of an inch short of a slovenly kiss with Clover’s glans.

Tempted by the heat and moisture emanating against her womanhood and the budding masculinity glaring up at her, she ensured that her next move was her most potent. Flooring her hips downwards, she turned her squat into a sweat-greased dumping of her rear against Clover’s crotch, and in doing so skewered her slime-glazed lower lips with each and every inch of the throbbing tower without a hint of remorse. Finally, as these inches of flesh spread the primed confines of her womanhood, she dropped her upper body down into contact with the meagre expanse of her son’s torso to deny him any form of ‘escape’.

Contrary to the gutting “MNNGH♥” that burst from her lips as she force-fed cockmeat into her leaking sleeve, stimulation was not the older woman’s Achilles heel. No sooner was the ample mass of her breasts mushed against Clover’s chest did her arms snap upward into an affectionate coil around both sides of his neck. Subsequently, she dipped her skull just far enough downward to see her lips drawn just shy of another kiss with him.

This done, she spoke. Not to goad the boy or to play further on assuaging his insecurities—these things could be managed later.

She did not want her son’s first time to merely be _experienced_ …

  
She wanted it to be felt.

“H-How is this, Clover? Does your new wife’s cunt feel good like this?” she asked, tone only slightly addled by the cock throbbing against her folds. “I-I know it might not be very appropriate for me to say as your mother, but I hope it is everything you dreamed it would be.”

Dorothy hadn't selected these words for the fun of doing so. In her heart, she felt that they were likely to touch upon something that her son housed within himself—perhaps even the thing that had drove him to purchase her in the first place.

For better or worse, parental insight is rarely wrong. Behind his initial, agape silence induced as the gluey embrace of his mother’s cunt enveloped the girth of his cock, Clover immediately produced his most aggressive actions yet. Screwing his features into a closed-eyed scowl, he popped his crotch upwards to urge Dorothy out of her ball’s deep plant against his crotch. The moment he felt her folds slide several inches upward from the root of his cock, he used these inches of ‘leeway’ to begin driving his cock up and down through Dorothy’s innards with a desperate (and consistent) aggression.

The shape of these thrusts, as dictated by Clover’s position and Dorothy’s smothering of his frame, could be best described as a dead on ‘punch’ of the boy’s half-submerged member up into her cunt along an obtuse bow curve. Less than a third of the bulky monstrosity was peeled back through her depths during a given retraction of his member—a circumstance that obscured the majority of this ‘bow shape’ to the growing number of onlookers nearby. But, for as often as the oblong shape was obscured, the thudding hilts of Clover’s member that preceded the inward portion of his thrusts left nothing about them to the imagination. With this, a blunted distension of Dorothy’s stomach flesh completed the bow’s presentation (assuming one visually tracked it from the mouth of her cunt up to her abdominals), and granted all those close enough to lay eyes on it a means of imagining what Dorothy’s insides were enduring.

Generated through the baseball-bat-sized tenting’s inflation and deflation were mental images depicting a honey-drenched pile-driving of bloated glans flesh against a cervix swelled by abuse and loosened by need. Imposed behind a squishy capsizing of pulsing cockmeat through a vaginal canal fattened by arousal and soaked to a state of clogging with its own lubrication, each of the gut-wrenching deliveries saw these images supplemented with thoughts of a pleasure potent enough to make incest seem an appropriate price to be paid for it.

If the reduction of Dorothy’s torso to a perfectly-sized sex toy was not enough ‘mental fuel’ for those gathered within the marketplace, the sights and sounds peripheral to Clover’s thrusts remained available to fill in any and all gaps. As a consequence of their modest length, Clover proved capable of producing these thrusts at a punishing and stutter-less pace. In doing so, the sodden *PLAPS!* of his crotch against Dorothy’s (and to a lesser extent, the bouncing meat of her rear against his thighs) sounded out often enough to suggest that the woman was being bred by a beast. Similarly, the gooey splatters of her feminine lubricant against his crotch and the resultant flogging of his lust-drenched testicles up against her rear were enhanced to a rousingly guttural effect.

Like this, a relatively complete picture of what Clover’s thrusts were doing to his mother could be imagined by those present so long as they were willing to look and listen.

Relatively, but not entirely.

Right from the beginning of her son’s sudden thrusting metronome, what Dorothy was granted by the speed and depth of his motions became something that had to be _experienced_ to be understood.

Fortunately, she was experiencing it. The degenerate pride that assaulted her as she plugged herself full of Clover’s cock—a physical confirmation of his status as a man more endowed and ‘capable’ than the one that had helped create him—very nearly fried her brain with affect. The stinging mixture of pleasure and strain made to wriggle and bloom within her female organs each time her son plunged himself through their congealed depths saw yet-untouched pleasure receptors within her womb all but ruined with stimulation.

Contesting with these as her cervix was soundly pounded into subservience by the male beneath her was more stimulating for her than anything she had enjoyed prior. So much bliss was gored in and out of her sputtering folds that, in spite of measuring her ovulation cycles down to the day, a familiar sensation of need and readiness began to wriggle within the organ at her core.

Before long, the yearnings of this organ began competing with her love for Clover for control over her behavior. Nearly a minute into the boy’s unyielding salvo, her uterus began to demand that she bounce her rear up and down along the same curved path travelled by his thrusts at an equally punishing pace. In doing so, each splatter-inducing gore of cock-into-cuntmeat saw the depth of Clover’s thrusts pushed deeper still, and the pressure imposed on her cervix’s cock-sucking exterior intensified to a new ‘height’ in its lunacy.

Action was not the only request made of her frame, however. Albeit not to the extent that her core had intended, perverse, and sometimes utterly vulgar utterances began seeping through Dorothy’s lips in short sequence with one another.

“O-Ooough♥ M-My new husband is very **fucking** virile, i-isn’t he?” Dorothy cooed, eyes trained in a lustful gaze at the boy beneath her. “I-Is it n-nice for you ? Is b-blending up y-your-guhuu♥— mother’s **slobbering cunt** pleasant for you? It w-would be **ever s-so awful** if M-Mommy’s cuntmeat w-wasn’t enough to milk her l-little boy dry!”

For as much as these outbursts were induced by lust, Dorothy accented them with the intention of ensuring that the suggestions that they contained would never come to pass. Behind them, the just-right bouncing of her rear along Clover’s length became a selfish flog and grind of her backside against his crotch. As opposed to meeting his inches-long thrusts with retractions and compressions of her own, she broke pace to mash her son’s hilted member through her sex-fattened folds as she pleased. Wiggling her hips behind each hilt and slowing her rear’s ascent whenever he saw fit to draw his cock outwards, her ‘adjustments’ amounted to a willful intensification of the pleasures that she enjoyed with her son.

Through this, Clover was to be denied a say in the duration of their consummation. No matter how well-endowed the boy was or how driven he was to perform as her husband, nothing within him was prepared to endure the brunt of her hunger...

Not unless he was even more of a man than he had already proved himself to be.

Content to operate under this assumption whilst their sex wedged fractions of Clover’s glans through the domesticated meat of her cervix, Dorothy followed up her adjustments with further motivation for her son.

“Ah-haha ♥ S-So deep! M-Mommy is only moving her hips _a little bit_ , but your cock is digging in s-so much harder t-than before!” she cooed. “I can feel how much it’sh throbbing n’— **mmnughh** — squirting ♥. I-It wants to breed me so badly, Clover!”

Privileged in her position directly above the boy, Dorothy made certain that these utterances were seasoned with intimacy as well. Again planting her lips against his own, she allowed a fresh outflow of saliva to drain into his mouth whilst simultaneously blending its volume within his mouth alongside her tongue.

Unlike her first, though, this kiss was kept brief.

“I-It’s because of you, isn’t it? All of its throbbing n’wriggling is only ‘cause **you** wanna impregnate your new wife’s gooey cunt, isn’t it?” though Dorothy knew this to be the case, she posed her knowledge as a question in hopes of drawing yet another knee-jerk response from the boy.

“S-Such a **wonderful husband** you are ♥. D-Don’t strain yourself on m-my account, sweetie. B-Blast every drop of squirmy cock juice straight inside Mommy’s cunt! P-Plug her womb full of it! M-Make is so no _other man_ will be able to breed me ever again ♥!”

At this, Clover could focus in silence no longer. Producing and maintaining his thrusting metronome had required more of the boy than he had imagined in his countless daydreams about impregnating his mother. Enduring her reciprocation of these thrusts added further complications to his psyche, as did the stimulation made to ripple through the pent bloat of his erection each time he hilted himself.

His mother adding verbalizations of her desires to the list of ‘things’ that he had to entertain robbed the boy of all recourse. In spite of the state of his frame yearning for stillness and release, Clover forced his arms away from his sides and up into a sound compression of the puffy curvature of his mother’s hips. Though his palms failed to capture anything close to their entirety, what flesh he managed to pin underneath his fingers and palms proved sufficient for a ‘grasp’ that could be leveraged for something else.

Next, he sharpened his thrusts further still. Behind a youthful grunt, Clover produced his heaviest thrust yet, and subsequently amplified its impact with the application of downward pressure from his palms.

Try as he might to continue acting on his frame’s urges throughout, what these actions wrought forced him to pause for a second time. In the blink of an eye, the sex-greased excess of his glans and several of the rugged inches behind it were drilled straight through the dilation of Dorothy’s cervix into a sound penetration of her womb. Without a moment’s notice, the quivering claustrophobia imposed between the puffy fullness of her cervix and the orgasmic writhing of her inner walls was replaced by a stinging, oven-temperature bliss.

Programmed by his gender to adore the sensation as he adored life itself, its encroachment on his shaft saw Clover speak intelligibly for the first time in minutes.

“I-I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna splatter cock juice isn’t your womb, Mother!” he shouted. Seemingly much less ‘concerned’ with appearing as his mother’s son after their public marriage, the masculine intent that had defined his earlier utterances was nowhere to be found in this one.

In its absence, the boyish need housed within his core was allowed full-reign of his tone .

“T-Take it all, o-okay? I’ll pour it into you until your stomach swells, s-so make sure you give me a healthy baby in return!”

Though his utterances were childish, the actions that backed them were anything but. Once through with his petulant demands, Clover continued with his efforts as planned. Knowing full well what was to become of his member as a result, he thoughtlessly committed himself to grinding the most sensitive inches of his member in and out of the sweltering confines of Dorothy’s womb.

His having delivered innumerable, balls-deep depressions of his member into her cunt prior to this point spared him nothing in the way of sensation. Now, the short range bisections of his mother’s vaginal canal—lubricant-drenched compressions of a breeding instrument through a swamp fertile meat—were topped off by a grating nuzzle of glans into the embrace of her uterus. Inches shy of an equally overwhelming ‘tenting’ of the organ’s roof, it was the inner lining to the left and right of the organ that applied the most ‘work’ to his member. Sandwiched between their semen-starved clamoring, every inch of flesh driven into their embrace was made to feel as though it had penetrated a second orifice.

Within seconds, these conditions rendered Clover a drooling mess of desire desperate for release. The severity of his condition could be inferred from the strained, tooth-grit expression that he wore throughout. Visibly ignorant to anything and everything that did not concern fucking a child into his mother, it seemed to be only a matter of time until something within him ceased functioning.

For his efforts, Dorothy was made to endure the same. Whilst only mildly taken aback by the satisfying grasps placed on her hips, the invasion of her womb by Clover’s cock and the ruthless thrusts pounded into its vicegrip after the fact thrust the woman from a state of bliss into one of outright orgasm. In an instant, a heavy expulsion of her resin-quality lubrication burst from her spread folds onto Clover’s crotch, and later served as a grimy enhancement for the *CLOPS!* and *SPLURTS* generated at her backside.

Unseen throughout the entirety of her breeding, her closed eyes opened to present their overwhelmed crossing moments later. Her condition could not be compared to that of Clover’s in terms of severity, but then and there, one thing remained certain:

Both mother and son—husband and wife—appeared to be heading towards the same destination…

-

**LIKE MOTHER, LIKE SON**

All throughout the consummation of Clover’s marriage to Dorothy, the murmurs of those gathered within the town marketplace served as a forgettable backing track to the sounds and sentences generated by their sex.

_“A mother and son; you don’t see that every day.”_

_“He does look capable, doesn’t he?”_

_“That drunkard of a father is going to be right cross with himself in the morning, I bet.”_

If variable in quality and content, the low hum of these utterances consistently followed the event from its initial stages into the sordid escalations that truly defined them. Such was their conjoining that one without knowledge of the differing ‘sources’ from which the sounds stemmed might assume them to be one and the same.

But this was not the case.

Utterly and completely, a definitive upward thrust from Clover’s hips snuffed out the marketplace’s extraneous noise as a sodden cloth might a candle wick. Subsequently, clotted and eerily digestive *BLORTS* of varying vehemence and duration erupted from Dorothy’s midsection with a consistency that demanded adherence from all those observing the event.

By virtue of their cause alone, this demand was a wholly valid one. Following Clover’s final thrust, his hilted member was again driven into a partial invasion of the hyperactive baby-pocket housed at his mother’s core. Once fully inserted, a lengthy spurt of visibly nutrient-riddled semen erupted from the tip of his member like sludge from a ruptured resin pipe. Cloudier and heavier than the seed produced by far more developed male, the overstuffed blurt seemed more comparable to a pulp-laden adhesive than human reproductive fluid.

Appearance aside, the mire was discharged into Dorothy’s womb with all of the ease and excess to be expected of a womb-depth orgasm. After the volume of the first gush was messily distributed between the roof of her uterus and the starved organ lining to either side of Clover’s glans, healthy strands of the substance began leaping from the nose of his member one after another. Each one backed by the pressure of a strenuous wriggle through the swelled length of his urethra, their discharge superseded the quagmire of flesh most immediate to his cocktip (as the first had), and soundly bathed the roof of Dorothy’s womb before contributing the remainder of their volumes to her uterus’ inner walls.

The length and composition of these strands saw to the inundation of the organ’s confines less than a minute into Clover’s release. From the wriggling foundation splattered into the organ by his initial ropes of seed was birthed a growing ocean of wriggling, uterus-clogging slop so fat that the organ was forced to balloon out and away from its suckle to his glans to accommodate the still-growing volume of nut packed into it.

It was at this point that Clover’s orgasm acquired true significance to Dorothy. Naturally, this was not to say that the slow swelling of her midsection into a lumpy sac of semen-bloated uterus flesh was not engaging enough for her. Pinned to Clover’s crotch and numbed with contentment by the sensation of chunked reproductive fluid drowning her insides, the seconds that preceded her gut’s ballooning to its peak, pregnancy-esque size were spent by the older woman on coos and groans befitting a younger and far more whorish woman.

Nevertheless, the completion of her inundation was special. With this, all of the sperm cells packed into Clover’s nut were allowed to focus on their purpose. As no uterus lining remained for them to slide against, the jostled tadpoles set off on individual searches for the ovum freshly discharged into her womb by her ovaries.

It was not especially difficult for them to find, either. Literally fucked from her innards by the aggression of the pair’s sex, the smooth sphere had enjoyed a tumultuous handful of seconds of ‘bullying’ by the seed blurted into Dorothy’s uterus before the sheer excess of semen surrounding it saw its core pierced by an especially fat and single-minded sperm cell.

Having been cognisant of her fate from the moment her son’s semen began billowing out inside her, Dorothy was not overcome by the sensation as it occurred.

Instead, she welcomed it with open arms—just as she had the boy that had purchased her.

“Oooouughhh it’s t-there!! M-My little boy’s cock juice found my egg~!” she cooed, voice slurred by a cutting euphoria. “I’m ‘nna get p-pregnant! I’m gonna have my new husband’s cute little baby !”

“I’m so happy!”

There could be no doubting the veracity of the woman’s words—not with her face and frame as they were.

One could, however, argue that someone else was even happier.


	2. I'm 14 and my dad is 12. Guess how? I dare you, hoe ass nigga. You won't. I bet you won't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clover Front's cool, very-not-wack adventures buying adult women continue. Two years after departing from home with his mother as his wife, he faces new challenges in getting an education and dealing with the stuffy wife and children of his good-natured patron. Drawn into a marital dispute between the pair, it is left to him to solve the matter before their marriage fails for good.
> 
> Little do either of them know how good he is at solving the problems of fat-assed older women.

The first two years that Clover Front spent as an apprentice and scholar were years whose contents defined them as the most tumultuous and rewarding of his life thus far. It was throughout this period that he honed his natural talents for deduction and planning, applied his grating curiosity for all things interesting to a formal education, and laid the foundation for what many at his age would describe as a lucrative and comfortable future.

Incidentally, these two years also resulted in him acquiring a second wife for himself.

On arrival at the capital city of Trice as a newly-married 10-year-old boy, Olivier Astrix—the man who had offered him his current position and a former patron of his father’s—welcomed him into his home with open arms. This was as much an extension of goodwill from the rotund businessman as it was a matter of necessity and timing. At the time, a number of weeks separated the date from the fall-set beginning of the school year. Consequentially, the dormitory that was to serve as his home was not yet open for new students to make use of. As his new protégé would require a home to come back to both during and after the school year, Olivier reasoned then that housing him until the beginning of his education would allow the boy a certain amount of comfort whilst at the same time granting his own (Olivier’s) family time to familiarize themselves with the nature of his newest apprentice.

Clover’s arrival with his mother/wife in tow did not alter Olivier’s confidence in his plan. The businessman within him could not help wonder as to what might have resulted in Dominic’s marriage souring to the extent that his own son ended up in possession of his wife, but this was not a question that a surrogate father could safely pose to their newest son. Instead understanding the 10-year-old’s marriage as a sign of his maturity, Olivier placed his questions on the ‘backburner’ and focused his attention on making Clover feel welcomed.

By focusing himself on this, the answers that he sought were delivered to him by the passage of time. On the night of his arrival—and most every night that followed—the squealing of Dorothy Front resounded through his home with such piercing regularity that Clover himself saw fit to apologize for them. Evidently, he had purchased his mother as a wife to ensure that her remaining child-bearing years were not wasted on his father (among other things that he proved too embarrassed to explain). Dorothy herself was very amenable to the idea—so much so that she proved unwilling to exercise any shame or self-restraint when he made use of her body. Largely familiar with his mother’s habits, Clover reasoned that his successfully impregnating her would result in the relaxation of her perversion. After all, this was the primary ‘purpose’ that she sought to fulfill as his wife.

A reasonable and family-oriented man, Olivier accepted his protégé’s apology as unnecessary. Having seen the youth in Dorothy during their first meeting, the idea of her being ‘attached’ to her son as a source of sexual satisfaction did not strike him as strange. As well, Clover’s actions constituted only what was expected of him. A husband willing to take responsibility for the actions of his wife regardless of his youth was to him a man deserving of both respect and admiration.

The rest of the Astrix family refused to adopt the opinion maintained by the head of their household. A woman of tradition and a number of particularities, Valia Astrix swallowed the idea of her husband housing a young male apprentice different from the sons she had provided him only because her husband had demanded that she do so. Presentation with the fact that this boy had managed to find a smiling and warmly-devoted wife in his mother at such a young age only made his existence that much more distasteful to her.

Needless to say, much of her dissatisfaction was rooted in jealousy. Dorothy's senior by nearly a decade, Valia was far from the woman that had married into the Astrix household in her prime. The quality of her frame had by no means slipped--at least not in aspects that men deemed intolerable Still, the thinnest of wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and the nevertheless-becoming concentration of fat within her ass rendered the perky, succulently-excessive bloat invested in Dorothy's body a sore reminder of what she had lost. 

Similarly, Clover's existence as a talented little boy chosen by her husband on the merit of his potential reminded her of her shortcomings. Despite having provided Olivier with two sons and devoting a great deal of time and energy into rearing them as suitable successors for his enterprises, neither of her children had managed to replicate the glimmer of hope that shone within his eyes whenever he spoke of Clover. Having become accustomed to a certain amount of comfort for her surroundings and control over her stressors, confrontation with the removal of these things as shaped by individuals that did not belong in her home in the first place grated on her as nothing else could.

Troa and Yael Astrix followed their mother's lead for their own reasons. Troa at 12 and Yael at 11, both boys were old enough to resent Clover whilst at the same time believing themselves to be superior to him. However much talent or maturity he displayed, his birth and upbringing defined him as someone inherently beneath them. Being children whose lives and successes had been handed to them by their mother, concrete validation for their mindsets did not exist—not that this was something that they required. Content to hate their new roommate for no other reason than their ability to do so, the two of them went out of their way to ensure that Clover went completely ostracized whilst living within the Astrix estate.

Wistful and indifferent, the distaste projected by the majority of the Astrix family did not have its intended effect on Clover. Upon exposure to it, where it came from and what it would amount to were obvious to him. Whereas the child within him was willing to accept their hatred as a consequence of his destroying their status quo, the fledgling adult took confidence in the fact that Olivier's opinion of him was far more positive. From this, he inferred that Olivier's desires and opinions could override their own if necessary. As his apprentice, this fact would render his family's displeasure towards him meaningless so long as he proved himself to be a worthwhile investment.

The reality of his housing aside, the persistence of 'more important' matters kept Clover from paying much attention to the hateful eyes directed at him. 

A month or so after entering the Astrix household, Dorothy revealed herself to be pregnant. No less sexually aggressive throughout the months that followed, her declaration forced Clover to bear the burdens of an expectant father and scholar at the same time. Neither weight was so heavy as to stop him from violently fucking his mother on a near daily basis so as to deal with her tenacity, but cumulatively, his life became far too busy for him to worry himself over who liked him and who didn’t.

When next Clover looked up to survey his lot in life, 8 months had passed. By virtue of his dedication, his performance at school matched those of the very brightest students within the 10-12 age group, and Olivier’s opinion of him remained positive enough for his family’s discontentment to remain an afterthought.

For as much as he’d have liked to, Clover was not allowed to put his head down throughout the months that followed. 

On a day seemingly congruent with the dozen that had preceded it, Clover was pulled from his lessons by news that Dorothy had endured a miscarriage. Inexplicable and non-fatal, this event prompted him to again assess whether or not his mother was fit for child-bearing. Her health and youth were no less impressive to him than they had been months prior, and the smoothness with which she handled the loss of her first child (this coming largely as a result of his excusing her for it) boded well for the future. All the same, if she turned out to be incapable of performing as his wife and producing heirs for him at the same time, his choosing to marry her would eventually prove to be a double-edged sword.

As discarding or resenting his mother was not within him, glossing over the event as a matter of course became Clover’s recourse. Content to assure Dorothy that her body wouldn’t have rejected a worthwhile heir in the first place, he sunnily recommitted them to the task of ensuring that a ‘worthwhile’ child would eventually be born between them.

No matter the number of miscarriages required.

Coincidentally, the same months wherein Clover redoubled the attention that he devoted to his mother were ones wherein the conditions within his host’s home became more tumultuous. 

Whether by coincidence or fate, the marriage between Olivier and Valia Astrix arrived at its final bastion before his very eyes. After an explosive confrontation between the pair, Clover found himself summoned to Olivier’s chambers for a conversation the very same evening. Being a form of ‘third son’ with no real relationship to the family, his ears were deemed as the safest for the grievances that had taken root in the man.

Evidently, Valia’s appeal to him had waned completely. Now older and far more bothersome than he preferred his women to be, her constant demands for further assurances towards a future for their sons could no longer be ‘mediated’ by raw appeal. What remained of her female assets were of no use to him without a sufficiently demure personality to match them—or so he claimed.

In his anger, the words ‘divorce’ and ‘disownment’ were thrown around with abandon. Going through with these things was not a particularly difficult thought for him; the time and money he stood to lose in seeking an annulment from the church and ‘justifying’ it with a clergyman simply framed the effort as just slightly more trouble than it was worth. Practicalities notwithstanding, he proved all too happy to describe the idea in detail to a little boy who just so happened to fit his definition of a fellow ‘married man’.

Clover did not merely allow his patron’s concerns to flow into one of his ears and out the other. Being a youth without designs on the wealth of the Astrix family and an interest in the obscenely-fat asses of older women, Olivier’s problem prompted Clover to suggest himself as a potential solution.

Whereas a divorce or annulment may’ve costed Olivier money, selling Valia to a child for next to nothing was free. In return for the slightest amount of freedom after the completion of his education, Clover then offered to ‘buy’ Valia as his second wife at no cost to Olivier. Already once through the process, all of the knowledge required for them to go about such an exchange sat ready and waiting for use within his boyish skull.

Then at the peak of his frustrations, Olivier did not think twice about his tiny ward’s offer. After a whole-hearted concurrence, it was decided that Valia Astrix would be sold to Clover Front in one month’s time—the exact span of time required for a seller to put their financial affairs in order and enlist the aid of an overseeing clergyman.

Though made far busier than he wished to be, Clover did not think much of the sudden shift in his life’s events.

In his youth, the lives of men were described to him as unpredictable and bothersome. If ever he was to become accustomed to such a life, no better time for ‘practicing’ existed than the present.

-

**THE OFFICES OF OLIVIER ASTRIX—11AM**

Seated side by side opposite a desk far too grandiose for its purposes within a room blanketed by the light emitted by a cloudless day, Clover and Dorothy Front passed the time with one another by making idle conversation. Being a scholar and a housewife respectively, the morning hours typically served as the period of time wherein their lives kept them apart. Gifted the opportunity to disrupt this regularity by way of a necessity created by their host, the two of them refused to waste a single moment. No matter how mundane or ‘commonly understood’, both mother and son eagerly passed comments back and forth between one another for no other reason than expressing affection.

On completion of their latest conversation, it was Clover who presented the next topic that the two of them were to discuss.

“Oh, that’s right. Does your face emblem still hurt, Mother?” he began, casually. “You might have to have it adjusted in the future, so there’s no sense lying about it to keep me happy. I’d much rather just find a better artisan to do the next one if so—you understand what I mean, right?”

Taken aback, Dorothy reflexively slid her left hand’s index and middle fingers across the ‘emblem’ drawn into the flesh of her left cheek. Drawn over a month prior, all feelings of pain and irritation associated with it had long since faded. Despite this, Clover’s mentioning it immediately conducted a dull throb across the fraction of her cheek that had been used as the emblem’s canvas.

In an instant, Dorothy rationalized her pain as something to be expected. Depicted across her cheek was a black, nondescript version of the symbol used to denote an infant. Slightly smaller than the span of her thumb, her iteration of the symbol bore a tally’s diagonal cross through its midsection. As a result of this, what the ink sewn into her flesh indicated was a child ‘struck’ from existence as a result of her weakness. To anyone sensible, looking upon it marked her as a woman responsible for at least one miscarried child.

No matter the months or years that passed, expecting a woman’s body to ever truly recover from the creation of such a brand was unrealistic. While well aware of this herself, Dorothy maintained no intention of informing her son as such. In all likelihood, he already understood this; his asking her about the pain was simply a way of gauging her commitment to the brand’s purpose.

Faced with such a task as produced by her husband, the only response that Dorothy knew how to produce was a smile and a nod.

“Not at all, Clover. Thank you for thinking of me; the last of the pain faded a few days ago.” she replied, warmly. “It’s a bit embarrassing to no longer have an excuse to wear a bandage on top of it. It’s not as though I don’t understand why you had me get it—it’s just a little difficult to get used to, is all.”

“I’ll adjust, though. I wouldn’t be a very good wife for a healthy little boy like you if I didn’t know how to adapt myself to your requirements.” continuing firmly, the warmth within Dorothy’s voice was soon joined by determination. “And besides, it doesn’t have to define me. When I produce an heir for you, it’ll just become a symbol of my capacity, won’t it?”

Completing her response with another one of her closed-eyed smiles, Dorothy made no mistake in reiterating her capacity to her son.

In doing so, Clover was left without motivation to continue on the topic. Shrugging his shoulders, he hopped out of his seat and turned to face his mother with a smile far too innocent for a boy responsible for permanently inking an abortion-sign into his mother’s cheek.

Here, he outstretched his right hand to gently caress Dorothy’s cheek and the bran depicted across it.

“I knew you’d say that, Mother.” he replied, chuckling. “As long as you’re okay, I won’t mention it again. Just don’t make me have to give you another strike in a few months, okay?”

Undaunted by her husband’s words, Dorothy tipped her skull to nuzzle her cheek against the warmth of Clover’s palm. At the mention of her impending due date, she reached up with her dominant hand to gently caress at the taut bulge that protruded from her house dress’ midsection.

Somehow, moments like this had become more pleasant for her than foreboding.

“I’ll try  ♥ . Don’t even think about taking it easy on me, though. If giving birth early means I get to drain a bigger load out of you, I’ll happily start over from scratch  ♥ .” she replied.

Given the opportunity, these words could have seen a wide grin spread over Clover’s face. As they were produced, the sound of footsteps and the creak of a wooden door frame demanded that Clover turn his attention towards the front of the room.

By the time he finished shifting on his heel, all three of the individuals that he and his mother had sat in wait for had begun on an approach towards the center of the room.

At the helm of their procession was Olivier Astrix. Seemingly at his very jolliest, his inward progression ended only when he arrived at a position directly in front of his youngest protégé. Behind him, a seething Valia followed several strides behind an indifferent-seeming and typically-dressed clergyman vaguely familiar to all those present.

All three of these individuals were relevant to Clover, but only the man leading the group proved willing to speak after their procession came to an end.

“Clover, M’boy, you’ve really outdone yourself this time. I had my doubts about putting all of this together. Now look at us—two men of business ready for a proper exchange of goods!” bellowed Olivier. “From this day onward, consider our agreement regarding your education amended. You shall remain here as my protégé, but I will not restrict your employment after your graduation. I’d be a right fool if I didn’t extend you an offer of work anyway, but it’s the very least I can do everything considered.”

“Without further ado, could you do the honors, Father Parvis?”

Evidently the speaker for the trio, Olivier’s address bled into an ingress from the clergyman. After situating himself between Clover and Olivier, the ‘honors’ referenced by the eldest within the room were pushed from his lips with a rigid formality befitting matters of the church.

“Ahem. We gather here today to formalize the annulment of the marriage between Olivier Astrix and Valia Astrix with her sale to Clover Front.” Parvis began, somberly. “Valia Astrix, please step forward.”

Initially, these words left Valia motionless. Dressed within a thin nightgown who's black fabric put the fertile curvature hips and the watermelon-sized bloat of her breasts on full display, her appearance at that moment was closer to that of a disgruntled prostitute than a nobleman’s wife.

At Parvis’ address, she turned to Olivier with both fury and pleading on her face. Unacknowledged for every second that she engaged in this, her persistence eventually resulted in Olivier moving her against her will.

“This is a business transaction, Valia. As little as you know of actual business, I trust you won’t be stupid enough to make the man gracious enough to purchase a fat-assed, used-up bitch such as yourself waiting?” he spat.

Unwilling to be discarded without a struggle, Valia began moving and speaking at the same time.

“Olivier, you cannot do this to me. Do you hate me so much that you’re willing to let a child—”

“Carry on, Father. Clover has lessons he needs to return to.” Olivier interjected.

Content to abide by the will of the man who had asked for his presence, Parvis continued without a single conscious thought on the event he was facilitating.

“With Dorothy Front as witness, all marriage rights to Valia Astrix are now passed to Clover Front for the price of 0 dollars and 0 cents. Henceforth, Valia Front will continue her service as second wife to Clover Front.” he continued.

“May all parties concerned continue living in the lord’s will. Amen.”

With this, all of the weight acquired by the air within Olivier’s study evaporated. Beginning with silent, smiley applause from Dorothy, all of the individuals present within the room reverted to lighter states and behaviors. After acting his part and shaking Olivier’s hand to seal the deal struck between them, Clover strode off towards Valia and slipped behind her without a word. Freed from decades of discontentment, Olivier spent his time patting the priest he had enlisted on the shoulder and chortling with a distinctly portly cheer.

The only individual left worse off after the event was Valia. Denied the ability to slump to her knees in disbelief by the child-sized face that was mushed up against the fat of her buttocks, standing and shuddering in complete disbelief became her only recourse.

In an instant, she had lost everything. Dragged from her bed minutes prior, the disarray in her neck-length black hair and the prevalence of the extremely mild wrinkling visible at the corners of her eyes marked her as every bit the used up woman that her husband had declared her to do. Without an inkling as to what would become of her as the second wife to a child, or for that matter, what would be expected of her, standing atop quivering legs with a stunned expression on her face did not feel at all inappropriate to her—even with a child’s cheek mushed up against the inner fringes of her asscheeks.

Valia’s adopting this shell-shocked motionlessness presumed a degree of relevance for her feelings that no longer existed. Presently, the only individual’s whose ‘feelings’ towards her treatment remained important were those maintained by Clover Front.

Not a minute after surveying the fat of her rear with his face, Clover began uttering these feelings as any other privileged husband might after taking in the frame of one of their wives.

“You know, I had thought that Olivier was having a laugh with me when he described how fat your ass was relative to the rest of you, Valia.” he began, thinly. “I should have known better than to take him as a liar, but it really is something. You’ll probably be able to take an even better beating than Mother.”

After producing these comments, Clover undid the hug he had wrapped around Valia’s waist and stepped backwards. Dropping both hands down to the waistline of his school uniform’s slacks, he took care to undo the seal that maintained them prior to sliding the garment down across his thighs and stepping out of it.

Once half naked, he descended. First seating himself at, then sprawling backwards across the floor space behind Valia, his skull’s contact with the room’s wooden flooring saw him resume speaking as though his actions were not at all suggestive.

“It’s nothing a little exercise can’t fix, assuming you’re not too old to lose weight at this point.” Clover continued. “I have to try and impregnate you now, so why don’t you do most of the work this time so I know what kind of shape you’re in moving forward? It doesn’t really matter to me if you stay the way you are forever; I only took you off Olivier’s hands as a favor, after all.”

Feigning deafness to the words Clover had produced proved impossible for Valia. When referred to by the boy as an object to be bought and sold, a flaring of her temper resulted in her whirling around to determine where he had gone after releasing her rear. Upon catching sight of him sprawled out across the floor, the bloated pipe of sweat-glossed cockflesh rooted at his hairless crotch and the grin spread out across his face ‘hooked’ her attentions such that they were unlikely to ever shift again.

As impressed by the virile cudgel as she was disgusted by its owner, the sight of Clover body in this state tempted a fit of vitriol towards him as far as the tip of her tongue.

Before she could blast him as she had so often done her former suitor, the placement of a hand atop both of her shoulders bade her to do otherwise.

As it happened, these hands also turned her back towards Clover as well.

“Now, now. A good wife shouldn’t scowl at their husband without reason, Valia.” teased Dorothy, smiling. “Clover might be willing to tolerate bad behavior from you, but I certainly won’t. He’s already explained what he wants you to do, so why don’t you get started?”

“Here, I’ll even  **give you a hand** .”

Whereas Dorothy’s voice did not contain anything other than her usual sweetness, her words and actions suggested that something about Valia’s behavior had incensed her. Without waiting for her peer to accept or decline her offer, she applied downward pressure with both of her hands to rudely force her down into a squat directly above Clover’s crotch and erection. Quick to recognize that most of her (Valia’s) strength had been taken from her by the shock she had endured, she (Dorothy) subsequently descended alongside her to see the rest of her job done sooner rather than later.

With Clover present, this job became laughably easy for her. After a brief posturing of her son’s erection via a pleasurable compression of its root, Dorothy depressed both of her hands behind Valia’s frame and down into an anger-backed compression into the worrisomely-massive bloat of both of her asscheeks. Though taken aback by the amount of soft flesh that consumed her fingers as she did so, this contact saw her produce a smooth partial-parting of the cheeks (or as much of their jiggling excess her waifish palms could manage) away from one another.

Her accomplishment of this marked the end of her job, and the beginning of Clover’s. At last presented with the Valia’s asscheeks whilst in a state that he could use, the sight of Valia’s cunt and asshole prompted him to slam his crotch upwards whilst stabbing his right hand inwards. Owed to his mother’s posturing of his length and the sheer size of Valia’s ass, these gestures saw the drooling knob of flesh at the tip of his cock gored up into the humid warmth of Valia’s aged cunt whilst his palm enjoyed a similarly-satisfying depression into the flank of fat and curvature that separated her right hip from the beginnings of her buttocks.

Beyond this point, Clover asserted himself. After spearing as much of his erection into Valia as he could, he used his right hand to coax her larger frame down to a height just short of a seated position atop his crotch. Made to wince ever so slightly as the modest assortment of squirming, thumb-dense blood vessels that branched away from his urethra were consumed into an impressively-congealed embrace by her folds, the ‘end point’ for this gesture actually found the boy grinning more energetically than he had all day. Relative to the pleasure he derived from his glans’ compression against Valia’s cervix (this accomplished whilst a near-third of his erection’s length remained outside of her cunt), acclimating to her quivering cuntmeat’s compression of his member became unimportant to him.

All of a sudden, the only matters of importance to him were limited to his responsibilities as a husband.

“Hmm, maybe Olivier is too honest a man for his own good. I had assumed you’d be a lot looser on the inside, but your insides still feel pretty good, Valia. It’s almost kinda surprising.” Clover chirped, flatly. “Anyway, like I said, this is more for you than it is for me. If you have trouble keeping up, just let Dorothy help you, understand?”

Upon producing these utterances, Clover denied Valia the opportunity to speak up against the meaning embedded into them. Utilizing the leeway left in his penetration of her syrup-slick folds, he plunged his crotch upwards to see the entirety of his throbbing mast crammed up into her folds. In time with the sodden *PLAP!* induced as the smooth surface of his crotch made contact with the fat of her rear, he bent his left foot into a flat compression against the floor biased at the tips of his toes.

With the leverage earned from its posturing, he began to thrust. Tightening his grasp on Valia’s hips just slightly as he went, Clover took to the delivery of one lubrication-glutted spike of his erection into and out from his second wife’s depths after another. Whilst his left foot biased the weight of these thrusts up towards the left side of Valia’s cunt, the controlling force applied by his right ensured that their delivery was as ‘balanced’ as best as was possible given his position.

Of course, as far as Valia was concerned, nothing about the boy’s maddening depression of her cervix was balanced. Crippled by stimulation right as her lower lips were forced to spread around the knob-fat bloat of Clover’s erection, its goring of her innards down to its root and its subsequent gutting of these innards subjected her to a stimulation that rolled her eyes up into the peaks of their sockets.

Even whilst overcome by pleasure, what was happening to her remained more or less apparent to her psyche. Nearly a year had passed since last her ex-husband had responded to one of her sexual advances. Whereas she had enjoyed a plethora of opportunities to satiate her own desires with his endowment prior to the birth of their children, the deterioration of their marriage had resulted in her libido becoming ‘backed up’ to the point that aspects of her personality began to suffer from it. Thus, upon penetration by a pulsing loaf of youthful erection flesh as backed by a force and possessive aggression sufficient to depress her cervix, a certain amount of debilitation was to be expected.

To her folds, the fact that her partner was a child was irrelevant. Of interest to the slobbering canal was the writhing spire’s virility and its owner’s willingness to blend the well-kept meat sleeve that it contained into a shape that it would maintain for the remainder of its owner’s (Valia’s) life.

Needless to say, the whorish simplicity of her innards was not something that Valia was privy to. For as well as she understood the reaction her body was having to Clover’s cock, the reason for its intensity was obscured by her unwillingness to accept that she was being sexually ‘coddled’ by her child-sized-husband.

In the past, Valia Astrix would never have deferred to a child. Even if all of her avenues of escape or control were taken away from her, being made into a ‘means to an end’ was not something that she would have stood for, either.

So deeply were these memories installed into Valia Front that enduring a half minute of stabbing from Clover’s crotch prompted her to begin mashing the fat of her rear back against his thrusts each and every time him hilted himself. Facial features screwed into a pouty defiance punctuated by a depraved outflow of mucus from her right nostril soon after the fact, the sight of her throughout proceedings began to appear more and more similar to what could be expected of the Valia of old…

Assuming one was willing to put aside the fact that the meat of her breasts and the fat of her ass were being forced into fits of perverse bouncing and clopping by the cock of a child, of course.

“D-Do not order me around like a child! I-If I am to be your wife, I will treated as such!” Valia snapped, eyes still curled up towards the peak of their sockets. “I d-do not imagine you will give me such treatment if I do not earn it, but do not assume I-I am not capable of it. I may be older, but do not l-lump my experience in to whatever this a-air-headed tart has treated you to!”

“I-I am much better, and I’ll show you exactly ho-wwyyuughhh  ♥♥♥ .”

Tragically, the extent of Valia’s frustrations could not hope to subvert the additional stimulation reaped from her reciprocating Clover’s thrusts. Right from his first thrust up into her cunt, her inner walls had been subjected to a perpetual grind against a phallus capable of stretching and smothering their flesh into subjugation. His thrusts had turned this oppressive choking of her depths into a vigorous half-blend, half-steamroll of nerve endings starved for stimulation for months on end. Consistent, energetic, and cripplingly effective, coiling convulsions and heavy ejections of cuntsyrup became the orifice’s sole means of managing their delivery as time passed.

Valia’s throwing the canal back along his shaft represented an overstepping of her frame’s meagre boundaries. Putting aside the accentuation of her marshmallow-esque buttocks fat’s mushing against his little crotch, her proactivity turned the pummelling of her sex-fattened cervix into an excavation of her folds that could only end with his phallus’ depression into her womb. Out of nowhere, the suckling of her inner walls to the wriggling blood vessels strewn about Clover’s cock and the monstrously-hewn cockflesh beneath them were ‘conveyed’ to her senses with an intensity that she had yet to endure throughout the entirety of her marriage to Olivier.

Expectedly, the consequence reaped from this was an acceleration of her degeneration. Amidst what she had assumed would be an impactful rebuking of her new husband’s presumption (and at the same time, a denigration of his first wife’s position), the conduction of a crippling orgasm from her uterus down to the mouth of her cunt forced her to grit her teeth in euphoria whilst groans of stimulation surged out of her throat. Only seconds later, a crossing of her eyes preceded the end of her short-lived bouncing chain, and a massive, arced expulsion of cuntsyrup from the edges of her cock-spread lower lips straight down onto the root of her suitor’s crotch.

Understandably dazed by this turn of events, the aftermath of her orgasm reduced Valia to a state of drooling silence far more perverse than anything she had managed prior.

Clover, however, was left no less capable of speech than he had been since dragging the older woman’s cunt down onto his cock.

“Oh. You’re not used to getting fucked this much, either? I really made a bit of a rubbish purchase ‘aven’t I?” more so speaking to himself than to Valia, Clover commented on the explosion of fluid and convulsion drizzled onto his cock without even a hint of discomfort. “Well, you actually tried, so I suppose that’s the important thing. It’s not like you won’t have time to practice later, so I’ll let you off here.”

“I wouldn’t recommend being mean to Dorothy in the future, though.”

Throughout the tail end of his utterance, Clover continued thrusting as though doing so was effortless for him. Sharpening the pace of his thrusts well-beyond what he had managed with his earlier salvo, he hurriedly immersed himself into a session of selfish masturbation with Valia’s gooey folds that no amount of sexual experience could hope to supplement. Before long, the short-ranged plunges he produced choked the room’s airspace with the sound of his crotch clapping against Valia’s assfat as accentuated by his testicles flopping up against her hole’s sodden face.

As quickly as his ministrations reached their slovenly peak did they come to an end. Within a minute of his strained acceleration, his new thrusting pattern culminated in a final, ball’s-deep press that nuzzled his glans deep enough against Valia’s cervix for him to feel the warmth of her uterus billowing out against it.

Moments later, he burst. Worked up to a satisfyingly potent orgasm, the last thrust that he produced was followed by the discharge of a bloated thread of dingy-white, congestion-prone semen straight up through the mouth of her cervix. Heavily pressurized in spites of its grimy, perhaps even chewable thickness, the entirety of the forearm length spurt was fed through this opening up to a vibrant splatter up against the roof of her under-utilized uterus. Messily ‘segmented’ towards the end of its discharge by the sheer amount of glut that persisted within it, the completion of its discharge left the mouth of Valia’s womb smeared with heady dollops of the substance on both sides.

For the most part, the entirety of the boy’s orgasm followed the patterns established by its beginnings. Whilst massive threads of nut were drizzled atop one another at the peak of her uterus to orgasm-swelling, surface-obscuring effect, the dregs of each one released contributed to a drenching of the organ’s lower half with the substance. With every digestive *GLORP* that sounded out from Valia’s midsection, the pool of semi-solid tadpoles established within her babymaker was fattened and widened towards a perfect consumption of its natural volume.

The extent of the pleasure that Clover had enjoyed up until his release spared Valia from anything more severe than this. One could not call the ballooning of her uterus with heated semen up to the ducts responsible for feeding ovum into its midst ‘minor’ by comparison, but relative to the orgasms that he typically poured into Dorothy, her escaping the event with  _ only _ a mildly distended stomach remained a realization of the ‘best case scenario’ for her first bout of sex as a married woman.

Unbeknownst to any of the individuals it concerned, Clover’s release was far more ideal than it appeared to be. Whilst the swelling of Valia’s uterus was kept to a minimum, the squirming of sperm cells into her feminine tubing occurred as it might’ve if her womb was packed fuller. Tucked away within one of these tubes was a lone ovum ripe for fertilization—one with no escape from the overfed tadpoles that meant to invade and impregnate its contents.

Thus, by virtue of a single plucky load of semen, Clover’s marriage to Valia was consummated within less than an hour of its occurrence.

Even amongst especially virile children, defining such a feat as anything other than ideal would have seemed a task far more troublesome than it was worth…

**SEVERALD WEEKS LATER—A CLASSROOM FOR STUDENTS**

“…So, from a purely financial standpoint, the business owners of Trice had a great deal to gain from surrendering a percentage of their earnings to the ruling class in return for the infrastructural improvements that they suggested. What hurt them in the short term stood to benefit them in the long term, and those who understood this were positioned best to prosper.”

“Now that we’ve established this, can any of you present an example of one of the businesses that benefitted the most from this agreement? We’ve been over several examples; come on then, let’s see some hands.”

Inviting and instructive in the softest sense of the words, a formally dressed educator addressed a classroom of uniformed students only partly invested in the discourse he had conveyed. Experts at feigning a degree of investment, most all of them met his eye contact with nervous gazes of their own. A much smaller fraction disregarded his sweeping gaze entirely, and one smaller still sympathized with his plight by nervously raising their dominant hands up above their heads.

As a teacher, this was the best that the educator could have hoped for. Content with the fact that even a fraction of his students deigned to pay attention to the lectures their parents had paid for, he trained his eyes on each of the students that had raised their hands one at a time.

However, he did not call upon any of them. After passing each of these students an approving facial expression slight enough to be misconstrued as a product of his nature, he moved his line of sight over towards the only child within the classroom who had failed to produce some sort of response to his address.

Unchanged since the lesson’s initiation, this child stared back at him with a vested interest in the words that had come out of his mouth.

Such attention from him was not abnormal; amongst his classmates, his interest in the subject of economics was higher than most would consider normal. What was abnormal about this interest in the present was the fact that he maintained it whilst a naked and distinctly fat-assed adult woman sat atop his lap.

Seated horizontally so as to not obscure his vision (and perhaps to facilitate the molestation of one of her breasts by his right hand), the scowling woman was not nearly as invested in her position as its perversion might’ve suggestion. Up until his addressing the boy she sat atop, her attentions had sat fixed on the back half of the classroom. An aroused blush remained evident at her cheeks, but relative to her scowling, its presence on her face was rendered forgettable.

At least partly adjusted to the abnormalities presented by the boy and the woman, the educator happily disregarded the information reaped from his latest glance at the pair in favor of continuing on with his lesson.

“Let’s hear from you, Clover—share with the class the name of a business that profited from this.” the educator asked, smiling. “Just one though, alright? I want to hear from a few other students as well.”

At this, the naked woman atop Clover’s lap spoke up before the youth could even begin to part his lips.

“Troa, Yael; eyes up front! I-I don’t want either of you looking at me. Pay attention to Clover’s answer, then listen to those the other students provide. This is a classroom; apply yourselves and learn something!” she barked.

Addressed directly, Troa and Yael Astrix ceased their seething ogle of the older woman’s frame and focused their eyes on the front of the classroom.

A privy man in his own right, the educator expected this as well. It was only natural for children to listen to their mothers—even if that mother just so happened to be the second wife of a younger, already-married child.

Perhaps out of respect for his wife’s tenacity—or so the educator presumed—a quiet chuckle from Clover preceded his producing a correct answer to the question that had been posed to him.

“Well, this is kinda cheating, but ‘Astrix Ironworks’ came up extremely well, innit? In the 20 years since the agreement, they’ve done nothing but profit.” he chirped. “Isn’t that right, Valia?”

Rendered tense and bashful by Clover’s address, Valia ceased her scowling for a moment to produce a gentle nod in complete and utter silence.

None concerned with this response, adult, child, or otherwise, thought much on its contents.

Silence for a woman whilst her breasts were squeezed and kneaded hard enough to draw milk from her nipples was natural—even if every facet of her personality suggested otherwise.


End file.
